


all i want, all i need

by JuliaRose12



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing a Bed, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tenderness, soft soft soft both of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaRose12/pseuds/JuliaRose12
Summary: sometimes the worst monsters aren't monsters at all.or, jaskier takes care of geralt after a contract gone wrong.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 396





	all i want, all i need

**Author's Note:**

> my first quarantine watch has been the witcher, and as usual when i get into something new, this show is all i can think about. geralt and jaskier's dynamic drew me in immediately and as i am a sucker for hurt/comfort, this just happened out of nowhere. since this was my first time writing about this world/these characters, any feedback is much appreciated :) i hope you enjoy and are staying safe <3

In hindsight, it didn’t really matter what kind of creature it had been. Jaskier often found himself hung up on the details - he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, really, if he found the one book in the village’s small library that detailed all the defense methods of a kikimora, because Geralt already knew, but it would ease the fear, just a little bit. 

It was tradition for contracts where Jaskier wouldn’t be trailing behind Geralt into the woods, or the marsh, or wherever the road found them. He would sit and watch while Geralt prepared his armor and ramble on about whatever he’d read, all the things he didn’t want Geralt to forget, knowing full well all the while that he wasn’t teaching his witcher anything new.

Geralt would hum in response for every few points that Jaskier made. He’d tell Jaskier when he could expect him to return, and then he’d be off, and that would be that. 

In this little cabin just north of Redania, though, it was different. 

A day earlier, the alderman had claimed to not know what exactly had been preying on the towns’ sheep, and the occasional horse. Just that it would appear suddenly, wreck havoc, and be gone before anyone could catch a solid glimpse of it. Geralt had accepted the contract despite Jaskier’s raised eyebrows from across the room, but they’d voiced their suspicions on the road up to the cabin where they’d be staying until the job was done. 

So no research this time, no preparation or guarantee that with Jaskier’s newfound wisdom, Geralt would come back in one piece. 

'He always does, either way,' Jaskier now sits and tells himself, over and over again, well past nightfall and the time Geralt had promised to return. 

He busies himself, as usual, while he waits, turning down the thick blanket on the bed, setting out salve and bandages, preparing a bath, anything to remind himself that this cabin will soon be a shared space once again. 

He doesn’t have to wait very long. 

The door creaks open a short while later, Geralt nearly having to duck to fit and then dropping his pack with an ungrateful thud in the entryway. Even in the dim light of the cabin, Jaskier can see the tears in the fabric across Geralt’s knees and thighs and the open cuts underneath. There’s a shallow gash centered within a deep purple bruise underneath his left eye, and the mud caked in his hair isn’t apparent until Jaskier meets him in the middle of the room. 

“Welcome back,” Jaskier meets Geralt’s eyes and grins ever so slightly before continuing to catalogue every mark and scratch on his body. “I’m assuming you won, since here you stand.” 

“Something like that,” Geralt answers, moving to unstrap the pads covering the top of his shoulders, but not before resting a fleeting hand on Jaskier’s own. They quickly fall into the first half of another one of their routines - Jaskier helping Geralt with his armor and then drilling him with questions about the fight, the hunt - gathering details to fill yet another song. 

Geralt is often the furthest thing from talkative, but he’s even quieter tonight, so Jaskier doesn’t push. He tosses each piece of clothing into the corner of the room one by one, finally peeling Geralt’s tunic over his head and matted hair. The gasp that fills up the small space after that is completely involuntary. 

Geralt’s back is mottled with angry bruises, traveling across his shoulders and surrounding his spine in varying shades of blue and purple. Jaskier’s fingers hover before he trails over one of the lightest bruises, over the warm skin that’s become so familiar to him these past months and years 

“Geralt,” Jaskier steps in front of him, and doesn’t miss the way Geralt averts his eyes. “What did this?” 

Geralt huffs out a breath, ambling forward instead of responding, and then removes the rest of his clothes with little effort and steps into the bath. He sinks down until all that remains outside of the water is his head, and that’s all it takes for Jaskier to know that he’s waiting. 

“Well if you won’t fill me in on the juicy details, then we’ll just get to work, I suppose,” Jaskier takes his usual place just outside the tub, waiting for Geralt’s nod of approval before sudsing up his hands and sinking them into tangled white hair. He focuses first on smoothing out the knots, careful to avoid the cut high on Geralt’s cheek, and then scrubs out the remaining dirt and grime, watching it dissolve into the water along with some of the tension in Geralt’s shoulders. 

He works in silence until he’s sure Geralt’s hair is sufficiently clean, and then gently tugs Geralt’s arm out of the water. “It was a basilisk,” Geralt stretches out his arm, his fingers brushing over Jaskier’s knee as he does. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Jaskier shakes his head theatrically. “But you’ve dealt with those more times than I can count, so how did you manage to come back looking like this?” All it takes is a gentle shove from an exhausted Geralt to nearly knock Jaskier backwards onto his ass, and once he regains his balance, he laughs just to see if Geralt will, too. “No offense.” 

“Wasn’t just the basilisk,” Geralt leans forward as Jaskier moves up his arm and towards the back of his shoulder, hissing through his teeth as Jaskier brushes over one of the bruises. “There was a group from the town, waiting.”

“Waiting for what? For the ever so mighty Geralt of Rivia to save the day?” 

It isn’t until the words are out of his mouth that Jaskier makes the connection between Geralt’s statement and the injuries he’s covered in, and his blood runs cold. 

“Wait, Geralt. They attacked you?”

“There were quite a few of them,” Geralt picks up scrubbing his other arm where Jaskier left off. “I was distracted with the job, so they caught me off guard.”

Jaskier doesn’t have to ask why Geralt didn't fight back. Why he never does. “It’s not worth it,” Geralt had once told him. “Not worth turning what they think of me into the truth.”

“I made sure they didn’t follow me back here,” Geralt adds, as if Jaskier had thought that Geralt would ever put him in danger without Jaskier wanting to be put in said danger himself. 

Jaskier tsks him, nodding so Geralt knows he believes every word. “I’m not worried about me, thank you very much. The only issue I want or need to deal with right now is making sure you no longer smell like a swamp.”

“Be my guest,” the corners of Geralt’s lips twist upward, and something warm blooms in Jaskier’s chest, chasing away a tiny bit of the cold and the hurt and the anger he’s holding back towards every awful person in this awful town.

Jaskier continues until Geralt looks close enough to the way he did when he left this afternoon, aside from the cuts and bruises spread across his body. He helps Geralt dry off, and then sits him down at the end of the bed so Jaskier can clean and cover each wound on his skin, performing the gentle ministrations that it took Geralt so many months to allow.

When he gets to the cut on Geralt’s face, Jaskier moves closer, sitting now so that their thighs are pressed together. He doesn’t miss the way Geralt instantly leans closer too, muscle memory taking over to draw them together. 

Jaskier won’t be the one to initiate it, though, not tonight, after too many hands have been on Geralt in the worst possible way. He pulls back instead, waiting. 

Geralt chases the shift in movement, knocking his forehead against Jaskier’s in a way that’s both clumsy and calculated at the same time. They breathe in simultaneously, and then their lips are pressed together, everything warm and gentle and so, so different from the world outside their battered wooden door. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier breathes out once they pull apart. He reaches to tie Geralt’s hair back, but stops at the hand that curls around his wrist. 

“What are you thanking me for?” Geralt’s question is genuine, and it makes Jaskier’s chest ache. “I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he gestures vaguely to the rest of the room with a subtle smile. “For all of this.” 

“I have told you once, and I will tell you again,” Jaskier wags a finger somewhere near Geralt’s nose. “No thanks are necessary.” 

Geralt holds onto their eye contact with a questioning look, waiting still. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Jaskier knows he sounds sad, but he hopes he sounds grateful, too. “For letting me in.”

Geralt’s response is immediate, and his words are so sure that they almost sound rehearsed. “I’ll always trust you.” He pauses, and then adds, “more than anyone.”

It’s inherent in so many aspects of their relationship. The way Geralt never shies away from Jaskier, the way he’ll take Jaskier’s hand after being chased out of yet another village, the way he allows Jaskier to fill the space around them with words of love and comfort to bury all the words of hate and disgust. Jaskier can see it in his eyes now, too.

“Well, isn’t that lovely,” Jaskier jokes, but he knows Geralt can see the sincerity behind it all. “Because as it turns out, I trust you more than anyone else as well.” He continues fussing over Geralt until he’s sufficiently dressed for bed, and then makes a dramatic show of fluffing up the pillows. “Now, you sir, are going to sleep.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows, but there’s no argument - he simply stands, stretches just shy of the point of wincing, and settles himself on the side of the bed that Jaskier prepared. 

“You too,” he nods towards the spot beside him, and Jaskier nearly trips over his feet to get there, earning a smirk from Geralt as he crawls under the scratchy blanket. 

They face each other for a moment, and then Jaskier gives into the urge to tuck a strand of white hair behind Geralt’s ear. Geralt’s eyes flutter shut at the contact, and Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever felt so at home. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“‘Night, Jas,” Geralt murmurs. He’s asleep nearly as soon as the words are out of his mouth. For Jaskier, joining him is the easiest thing in the world. 

He closes his eyes, but not before resting his hand over Geralt’s where it lies on top of the blanket. “This will be a song, someday,” he whispers into the dark, into the respect and trust that envelops the two of them like a cocoon. And then, he sleeps.


End file.
